The morning after the funeral, Jungkook woke up in her big empty bed, the sheets still faintly smelling of Yejun. Her head pounded from crying all night, but the sound of car doors outside made her sit up.

When she came down the stairs in her thin black slip, barefoot, her hair messy, she froze. Mr. Han, Mr. Ryu, and Mr. Seo were standing in her living room like they owned the place.

“What… what are you doing here?” she asked, her voice shaking.

Mr. Han stepped forward, calm, dangerous. “Kookie. Your husband owed us. A lot. That debt didn’t die with him. Either you pay it off in cash—” his eyes flicked to her tiny satin slip clinging to her nipples, “—or you pay with your body.”

Her lips trembled. She had no money. Not like that. She wrapped her arms around herself and nodded silently, cheeks flushing red.

Mr. Ryu smirked, patting her cheek like she was a pet. “Good girl. That’s what we thought.”

They dropped their bags on the floor, making themselves at home. “Show us the rooms,” Mr. Seo ordered, and she obeyed, leading them through the house. Every time she bent forward to open a door, their eyes devoured her ass swaying under the silk.

At the last guest room, Mr. Han leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Doesn’t really matter where we sleep. We’ll probably end up in your bed anyway.”

Her face burned. She lowered her head, lips parting as a nervous little whimper escaped.

“Go make us breakfast, widow,” Mr. Ryu said, his voice rough. “We’re hungry.”

“Yes… sir,” she whispered, padding to the kitchen.

The men didn’t sit still. They followed her in, circling like wolves. As she cracked eggs and laid out bread, they brushed against her, making her tense. Mr. Seo walked past and let his palm trail over her ass, squeezing hard. She gasped but didn’t resist.

“Fuck, she’s soft,” he muttered.

Mr. Ryu smacked her ass so hard the sound echoed through the kitchen. She yelped, the spatula clattering against the pan.

Mr. Han leaned close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “Yejun was right. You’re the kind of slut who was born for this. Crying last night, and today you’re in a little slip with no bra, nipples poking out while you cook for three men.”

Her breath hitched, thighs pressing together as heat coiled inside her. She tried to focus on the pan, but their hands kept finding her—fingers brushing her hips, palming her tits through the thin fabric, a hard smack on her ass that made her moan under her breath.

“You like this,” Mr. Seo growled, pressing against her back. “You’ll be cooking with cum dripping out of you soon enough.”

Her pussy clenched at the words, her face burning as she flipped the eggs with shaky hands.

By the time she carried the plates to the table, her slip was wrinkled, her ass stung from their slaps, and her nipples were hard peaks visible to all of them.

She set the plates down, and the three men sat like kings, smirking at their new toy standing nervously before them.

Mr. Han raised his fork but didn’t take a bite yet. Instead, he pointed at the floor beside his chair. “Koo. Sit here. We like our slut close while we eat.”

Her breath caught, but she obeyed, sinking to her knees beside him, her big tits almost spilling from the neckline of her slip.

The men dug into their breakfast, talking casually while their hands idly roamed over her body, as if she were nothing but part of the furniture now.

And for the first time since Yejun’s death, Jungkook realized the truth: her life was no longer hers.

It belonged to them.